


A Christmas Message From Baristas

by crossroadswrite



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shop, Alternate Unviverse - Human, Barista Castiel, Barista Dean, Christmas, F/F, First Kiss, Fluff, Giveaway fic, M/M, Mistletoe, cas is still social cluesless, charlie likes to meddle, dean is cute and shy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-05 09:22:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3114680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crossroadswrite/pseuds/crossroadswrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“But it’s Christmas rush. I hate Christmas rush.”</p>
<p>Charlie rolls her eyes at him, “I’m not letting you beg off coffee shop shift at Christmas, Winchester. I had to hire someone new to even be able to keep up with Christmas rush. I need you back there helping Castiel out and teaching him the ropes.”</p>
<p>Dean squints at her, “Are you trying to set me up again?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Christmas Message From Baristas

Dean wouldn’t go so far as saying that he loves his job. He surely appreciates that he does _have_ a job and he doesn’t mind working at Charlie’s bookstore/coffee shop.

Let’s face the facts here, no one that has to put up with the general population’s bullshit is ever going to love their job.

Coffee shops are a particular brand of hell all on their own, especially because some people expect Dean to pay them special attention and bat his pretty fanfiction green eyes at them, Whatever fanfiction is.

(Dean knows what fanfiction is. Dean is however never admitting he knows what fanfiction is because Sammy would mock him _forever_. Charlie would probably make him write smut for her OTP or something.)

People think just because he smiles and pays attention they have a relationship. They don’t. It’s his job and he’s good at it, there’s even some clients that he’s fond of, but he would never date a costumer. One night stands, sure. No dating. He’s not some AO3 cliché.

Anywas, he does like his job and since he’s best buddies with Charlie and she’s still trying to make him go to that huge LARPing convention he always begs off the coffee shop shift and settles down behind the counter of the bookshop with a book he’s just going to put back in the shelves after he reads it.

Charlie says it’s good for business. Let’s all the pretty girls and boys lust after him from the comfort of her plushie chairs.

Dean’s fallen asleep in those chairs countless times. He thinks people lust more after how comfy their butt feels than Dean reading.

“No.”

“But it’s Christmas rush. I _hate_ Christmas rush.”

Charlie rolls her eyes at him, “I’m not letting you beg off coffee shop shift at _Christmas_ , Winchester. I had to hire someone new to even be able to keep up with Christmas rush. I need you back there helping Castiel out and teaching him the ropes.”

Dean squints at her, “Are you trying to set me up again?”

“I neither confirm nor deny anything,” she says resolutely.

“ _Fine_. But if I see even a leaf of mistletoe or holly you’re in for a world of pain.”

Charlie smiles innocently at him.

Dean foresees mistletoe in his future.

Castiel – is he even pronouncing that right?! – arrives exactly five minutes later, one minute before he’s even supposed to be there. He brings with him a generally confused but determined look and one of the tackiest sweaters Dean has ever had the pleasure to lay eyes on.

Seriously, the entire thing is an odd shade of red with a huge Christmas tree upfront and mismatched ornaments hanging with no pattern or order. There’s a star at the top. It’s fluffy and sticky out-y.

Dean is torn between wanting to pet the star and waiting to take it out back and shoot it.

“Hey, you must be Castiel. I’m Dean,” he offers the man a hand for him to shake. Castiel blinks down at it for a moment before shaking it.

“Pleasure,” Cas says with a rough voice and whoa does this guy gargle asphalt for a living what the hell that was deep.

“Do you have a cold? Your voice is a little rough there, buddy,” Dean scrunches up his nose. If this guy makes him get sick he swears to God. He _hates_ germs.

Cas does this adorable frowny face thing; Dean resolutely doesn’t find it adorable.

“This is how I talk.”

“Right,” he says slowly “My bad.”

“Do not worry. It is a common mistake.”

Dean idly wonders if Cas has something against contractions.

Dean also wonders if Castiel has something against personal space because he’s currently invading his.

And when did his eyes turn so blue. They’re what you would describe as completely gorgeous and make you start waxing poetics about a drop of ocean in the sky transforming into sapphires that are really the tears of angels.

 Of course Dean would never say such thing, because comparing eyes to precious gemstones is just lazy writing work. Not that he even writes about blue eyes. Ever. He certainly doesn’t write nerdy fanfiction about Star Trek if that’s what you’re thinking. He doesn’t even fancy himself as Captain Kirk. Nope.

He clears his throat awkwardly, taking a step back so he can get some breathing space.

“Anyways, you can’t work with that on?” he says pointing at Cas’ sweater.

Cas looks down at his sweater and frowns at it, looking adorably offended in its behalf.

“What’s wrong with it?”

Dean opens his mouth to start the long list about everything that’s wrong with Castiel and his Christmas sweater.

Castiel tilts his head and blinks at him, looking way too much like a puppy for Dean to go and break his heart like that.

“It’s workplace policy,” he says pointing at the long sleeved shirt he’s using, “we all get one of these. Charlie probably has one in the back for you already.”

“Of course,” Cas agrees easily before just stripping off his sweater _in the middle of the coffee shop_.

“Whoa, hey wait- I’m- there’s-“

Dean’s eyes drop to Castiel’s torso which is surprisingly toned and muscled.  He immediately decides that the sweater should be taken out back as soon as possible and set on fire because the mere fact that was hiding all that is a tragedy of Greek proportions.

Castiel is still dragging the shirt off his arms, muscles flexing and all Dean can think is _Happy Christmas to me_ followed by _I bet he could maybe hold me up against a wall._

He’s a horrible human being.

Dean clears his throat, feeling a blush coming on, “Dressing room!” he blurts out, “We have, um, those. One of those. Out back. Yeah.”

“Are you feeling quite alright Dean?”

Dean says, “Absolutely, just peachy. Door’s the second on the right, behind the counter you can’t miss it.” Instead of what he really wants to say which goes along the lines, “I’d be better with your tongue in my mouth.”

Cas squints at him, “Alright, but I request dinner first. My sister always says that respectable men don’t put out on the first date. She is very wise.”

“What,” Dean chokes.

“You have expressed your wish to French kiss, I believe is the correct term, and I’m expressing my need for dinner first.”

Dean blinks at him, thinks _shit_.

“Okay,” he clears his throat, pretends he’s not blushing, “We could go after our shift today? Or you give me your address and I’ll pick you up at seven?”

Let it never be said that Winchesters weren’t smooth recovering from fails. Winchesters are smooth. _Like crunchy peanut butter_ , his inner Charlie replies.

Castiel gives him this brand of smile that makes Dean’s heart trip a little over itself.

“That seems agreeable,” he says, “Pick me up at seven. I will write you my address.”

And then Castiel is walking away into the Dressing Room to get his shirt. Dean turns to track him with his eyes only to see Charlie giving him a shit eating grin and twirling holly in her fingers.

“Merry Christmas to you, _Deanie_.”

“I hate you.”

Charlie grins, “Liar. I just got you a hot date with a cute boy.”

Dean sniffs, “I got myself a date.”

“Used that Winchester charm. Yes, I saw. I have no idea how you’ve managed to talk to boys before.”

“With confidence obviously. I was just caught a little off guard for all that. Where did you even find him? Literature department at the local college?”

“Yes, actually.”

Dean startles, “What the fuck? How did you get a college professor to work here?”

“I’m dating his sister,” Charlie’s eyes glaze over for a second as she lets out a dreamy sigh. Dean snaps his fingers in front of her face; Charlie bats him away, “And he’s taking a sabbatical to study angels or whatever. He was getting bored and lonely and she was complaining. I’m just trying to please my lady.”

Dean snorts, “I can’t believe you just whored me out to you girlfriend’s brother.”

“Oh, please. You didn’t mind being whored out.”

“This time,” he threatens, “and I better not see that planty shit anywhere near us in the near future, Bradbury. I know where you keep your comics collection.”

Charlie sticks her tongue out at him and Dean does it right back like the mature adults they are.

He should’ve known better really.

After Dean teaches Cas all about how the machines work and how to do what, working as close as possible and making sure he brushes against him unnecessarily – what, two can play the no personal space game and it’s not like Cas minds – they open the coffee shop doors to a bunch of shivering, grumpy people who haven’t had their coffee yet and are best left alone.

Just give them their coffee and don’t make direct eye contact. That’s Dean’s plan of action.

The day goes pretty well. Except of course, for Charlie, who skips away from the bookshop section and perches on a chair to hang holly over their heads.

Dean considers pushing her off, but before he can Castiel kisses him quick and chaste on the lips while the few people at the counter clap. He sees a mother covering her children’s eyes and rolls his.

He has better things to look at anyways, like Castiel blushing prettily and turning back to his work.

“Hey,” Dean whispers, demanding Castiel’s attention back, he grabs him by the sleeve of his not tacky shirt and pulls him close, looking him in his drop of ocean in the sky pretty eyes for a moment, to make sure Cas gets what he’s about to do and that he can stop him if he wants.

Dean leans in and kisses his slow and steady and chaste still. Because they’re in the middle of a coffee shop and there are people around them. Because Cas set boundaries and Dean doesn’t want to break them even if Cas is kissing back.

Because Castiel looks like a good thing, Dean’s own personal salvation of himself or something equality as stupid and he doesn’t normally allow himself good things.

But he figures, it’s Christmas so fuck it to hell and maybe he’ll keep this one good thing.

When he pulls back Dean finds himself smiling at Cas a little helplessly while Cas smiles soft and with his eyes crinkling in the most adorable way.

“Merry Christmas,” Dean says quietly.

Cas squeezes his hands, seeming to ignore the low humming of voices shattering around them and Charlie’s cooing, telling Dean in a voice only for him, “Merry Christmas.”

Dean can tell he’ll be whipped by this man in no time. Maybe he’ll even get a chance to be whipped when they’re fifty and Cas is glaring at kids for running over his petunias.

Sometimes, he really loves being right.


End file.
